


Let it go

by Nival_Vixen



Series: Word of the day [17]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canada, Childhood, Comforting Derek, Complete, Derek is a Good Boyfriend, Derek is a Good Friend, Derek is a Softie, M/M, No Kate resurrection, Post Nogitsune, Slow Build, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Leaves, Stiles needs to find himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1833559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nival_Vixen/pseuds/Nival_Vixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the nogitsune, Stiles needs to get out of Beacon Hills, and Derek remembers a place from his childhood that just might help both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let it go

**Author's Note:**

> Word of the day: droke  
> \- Canadian (chiefly Atlantic Provinces and Northwest Territories): a valley with steeply sloping sides.

It's not like Derek actively  _tried_  to forget about the place in Nova Scotia, but a lot of things had happened since his last winter holiday as a child there - mainly the fire, then New York, and everything in Beacon Hills. He was too busy trying to survive or save the others that it completely slipped his mind, even though Laura had mentioned it to him back in New York before she'd left for Beacon Hills. She'd brought it up as a way to make him remember the good times their family had had. Back then, all he'd felt was guilt, that he'd taken those good times away from them all. Now, after many years and various therapy sessions, Derek finally let himself believe that it wasn't his fault, that Kate had done this awful thing to his family, and he was not the one to blame.

It wasn't until after the nogitsune had been defeated that Derek thought of Canada again, a cold breeze with snow in the air that reminded him of the winter holidays. If he let himself concentrate on it, Derek could even vaguely remember being in Halifax with his family without an ache in his chest. The Hale family had holidayed there every winter, their cabin built in the droke of a secluded valley. Derek grinned slightly at the memory of learning to ski, Laura gliding past and laughing when he fell on his ass, and the expansive wilderness areas that he could run around in without worrying about tourists or trails.

A week the nogitsune had been defeated, Stiles turned up to Derek's loft, shivering and freezing. He brought Stiles towels, clothes, tea, anything to help his human stay warm, and tried not to worry that Stiles wasn't his usual talkative self. Not that he had been exactly chatty since the nogitsune, but he usually said  _something_ , and fifteen minutes had just passed without a single word.

"I want to get out of Beacon Hills, Derek. Anywhere, I don't know,  _I don't care_. I just need to  _breathe_  again, to not keep looking over my shoulder, not wake up screaming. I  **need**  to get out of here," Stiles murmured.

Derek just nodded, understanding the feeling all too well; he didn't need to ask why, not with the wariness the others seemed to unknowingly project towards Stiles. He trusted his senses, his wolf's judgement, and besides, he knew what it was like to feel like a monster. He trusted Stiles with his life, and that wouldn't change, nogitsune or not.

"I know somewhere we can go. If you don't mind me going with you?"

"All right. Just don't talk my ear off," Stiles muttered, sipping at his tea and hiding a brief smile.

Derek grinned; the joke wasn't very good, probably not that funny, but it was still a joke. He'd missed Stiles' jokes, as bad as they were.

"Pack for snow," Derek said, hoping that Stiles would be all right in the cold Canadian weather when he was barely surviving a Californian winter.

Stiles just nodded, and closed his eyes to rest, leaning against Derek.

...

They left the next day, Stiles too restless to delay their departure, and while the Sheriff seemed surprised that they were going together, he hugged Stiles tightly and told Derek to look after his son.

"We'll be back in a few weeks, Dad," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

Derek didn't bring up the skip in his heartbeat until they were both in the car and were long passed the Beacon Hills farewell sign.

"How long are we planning on staying, Stiles?" Derek asked quietly.

Stiles stopped pretending to sleep, shifting in his seat uncomfortably and glancing over at Derek as if to gauge his reaction.

"I don't know. You can go back though, just leave me at a truck stop or something."

Derek let go of the steering wheel long enough to cuff Stiles on the back of the head. "Do you honestly think I'd leave you alone out there? You're stuck with me now, pipsqueak."

" _Pipsqueak?!_ " Stiles echoed, sounding fairly squeaky in his indignation. "Fuck you, sourwolf."

"You too, pip. Now go to sleep. I'll wake you when it's your turn to drive," Derek added, a little softer as he took in the dark circles under Stiles' eyes.

Stiles mumbled something too incoherent for Derek to make out, but shuffled about until he was comfortable, his head resting against his pillow on the window. Derek sighed softly, rubbing his face briefly, then concentrated on the drive.

It would take them almost three days to reach Halifax, and Derek would drive for two, Stiles catching up on sleep and the car's engine lulling him to sleep and drowning out his nightmares. On the third day, Stiles refused to let Derek drive, chugging enough coffee that he needed a restroom in the next state, but was able to drive for the last 24 hours. Derek slept for half of that time, and not even Stiles' sing-along to Spice Girls would be enough to rouse him.

Derek woke up as they were passing the Canadian border and directed Stiles to Halifax, glancing at his map as much as going by memory alone. Things had changed over the years, and he didn't want to rely on a vague memory that might get them lost. By the time they reached the Hale's winter cabin, it was getting dark, and a light snow was starting to fall.

Derek grabbed their bags as Stiles went ahead with a key, his phone's flash as a light, and a full vocabulary of swear words when he almost slipped on the ice. The cabin's electricity wasn't on yet, but Derek had called the day before to get it set up, and had been promised it would be working by the end of the week. Until then, the fireplace, blankets, and shared body warmth should be enough to get them by.

Despite all of the sleep that they'd had in the car, Derek and Stiles were both fairly exhausted, and once Stiles had started a fire with freezing fingers, they bundled up on the old lounge in front of the fireplace and slept until late the next day.

After the electricity was switched on, they fell into a routine. Stiles would join Derek for a morning jog, their breath puffs of air ahead of them, and when they reached the birch tree that signalled the end of the trail, Stiles turned around and headed back to the cabin to be alone while Derek shifted and ran ahead in his wolf form. When he returned to the cabin, he'd chop wood until Stiles called him in.

Stiles still didn't talk as much as he had, but he seemed to enjoy reading and researching as he always had, making his way through the small Hale library methodically. He found cookbooks in the kitchen and worked his way though those as well, systematic and precise with the carefully handwritten recipes. The first time, he'd surprised Derek, and Derek had admitted how it reminded him of his Nan, how she'd made that soup and claimed that the secret was freshly ground pepper, but Stiles' still tasted better. Stiles flushed at the praise, but seemed pleased.

In the evening, they would sit in front of the fireplace and read, play cards or try to outmanoeuvre the other in chess. Sometimes they'd be up well into the night, other times, they'd barely be awake when eight o'clock chimed and eventually fell asleep curled up together on the lounge.

Derek took Stiles out into the snow when he got restless, both of them having difficulties to get their skis working properly, falling down more often than not. Derek almost crashed into a tree when he realised he didn't remember how to stop. Stiles preferred snowboarding, and Derek liked ice skating, especially when Stiles was beside him, cheeks pink and eyes bright in the cool air. That night was the longest time Stiles spent on the phone to his father, even though he'd rung every other day since their arrival, his eyes still just as bright as he recounted Derek's mishap with the skis and tree.

Every day, they'd end back up in the cabin, shivering until the fire was blazing, and their chilled clothes were swapped for dry winter clothes. Derek would make hot chocolate for them, a dash of cinnamon to give it the Hale touch, and an extra marshmallow in Stiles' mug because he always liked scooping out the melted mess with a spoon before drinking the hot chocolate itself.

Almost three months had passed when Derek thought Stiles was ready to answer him, and he looked up from the chessboard (three moves from checkmate) to look at Stiles seriously.

"We're not going back, are we?"

"We will one day; just not yet," Stiles replied softly, ducking his head as if he expected a reprimand.

Derek simply nodded and reached across the table to take Stiles' hand in his own. "Thanks for letting me be here with you, pip."

Stiles squeezed his hand and looked up at him with a smile. "Thanks for being here with me, sourwolf."

Derek smiled and didn't let go of Stiles' hand, even when his king was knocked over a move later. As long as Stiles would have him, Derek didn't ever plan on letting go of him.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


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